


For Lack Of A Familiar Face

by MagpieMorality



Category: Kings (TV 2009), Political Animals
Genre: 100percent must be british spellings below, And just about pre series for TJ, Crossover, I have a semi colon problem please help, I will drop the U over my dead body, Introspection, Jack and TJ are not friends, Jack is not a nice person, Jack whines and TJ doesn't deserve it, Set mid episode 1 for Jack, So he's still on the puff, Well not yet - Freeform, gratuitous use of semi colons, kidnapping/hostage situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4772705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieMorality/pseuds/MagpieMorality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Benjamin, heir to Gilboa, and TJ Hammond, son of the most influential woman in the US, are not friends. They won't ever be friends. Their shared features come with no sense of brotherhood- not even when they meet for the first time in a cozy cell somewhere in the mansion belonging to the Bad Guys TM who've oh so kindly kidnapped them. </p><p>Jack Benjamin is Not Impressed. </p><p>This is a Kings/Political Animals crossover because TJ wanted to prove wrong this author's assumption that Jack Benjamin would eat him alive. He doesn't quite get there in this fic but at least Jack feels slightly less fundamentally annoyed by him and slightly more willing to give him a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Lack Of A Familiar Face

He’s almost disgusted. Well no- he _is_ disgusted; he’s just almost so overwhelmed by it that he’ll let it show. It fills him up and makes his insides roll and his lip not-quite-curl but want to. Jack Benjamin is better trained than to show such base emotions however, even in captivity, so he keeps his outwardly-loose, inwardly-stiff smile on his face and tries not to obviously avoid looking at the other man in the room wearing his face.

 

It’s not that his begging is pathetic, or his shaking on the floor irritating and incessant; though both of those things Jack can privately admit are true. It’s not that the man won’t _shut up_ and let him handle the situation, won’t stop giving their captors more and more reason to laugh and jeer and less and less reason to leave them in private- the show is too entertaining for guards who have little else to fill their days with- and it’s certainly not that the man is about _this_ close to just offering himself up in exchange for whatever he’s craving and Jack will not allow his face to be used for such paltry rewards.

 

Maybe it’s a little to do with that.

 

Why couldn’t he be kept prisoner with someone who would sit in stony silence like he does, who would know that speaking with- begging!- their guards meant they returned more often and left less time to plan an escape? Why, dear Lord above if he’s listening, did it have to be this overgrown toddler _with his face_?! If it was a sign from God then it wasn’t a subtle one; more like a glowing billboard showing him how much worse he could’ve turned out if he hadn’t had Rose’s backbone and Silas’ two faces.

 

The man has recoiled and is curling into a corner behind one of the admittedly nice chairs, whimpering names over and over. This time Jack’s lip does curl, because what kind of grown man calls out for his mother? Rose would have a fit she heard Jack had begged her to come save him, begged her to help, begged her to make it all stop-

 

“That’s enough.” Jack snaps, allowing himself words now the guards have finally drifted back to their posts. The man- he actually hasn’t bothered to find out his name yet, and at the sight of that pale, wet face- _his_ pale, wet face dammit- looking up at him with such a strange expression of hope and hurt as has never been seen gracing the features of Prince Jack Benjamin, he feels a little bad about it. Not for long though. “You need to stop snivelling and shut the hell up, or we’re going to have a much less pleasant time here.”

 

“What-” The man clears his throat to remove some of the rasp. “What do you mean? We’re hardly having a pleasant time as it is.” A little steel and a little bite; Jack is abruptly intrigued, leaning forwards in his spot on the old sofa he’d claimed.

 

“They’re going to keep coming back and saying things if you keep reacting. There’ll be even less reason to let us go or ask us for information if you can’t even handle some nasty words from nasty men.” The man’s eyes glance away at the tone, then narrow and come back.

 

“It’s not the words, Benjamin, it’s more the fact that I can’t exactly see straight right now.” Jack’s surprise must be obvious because his doppelganger snorts and wipes a hand over his face. “What’s that for- you hadn’t realised I was coming down hard or you hadn’t realised I listened when they said your name?” And yeah, okay, so maybe they had said his cell-mate’s name at some point and he just hadn’t taken any notice. The other thing though-

 

“I know what coming down looks like, _thanks_.” Jack sits back, slouching in his chair with pursed lips. “But-”

 

“Then you know exactly how hard it is right now to even talk.” The man winces, clutching his stomach as more shakes wrack his slim frame. Jack has to admit that if it really is that bad- after how long they’ve been in here?- then he’s a little surprised the man hasn’t up and died yet. He must be seriously deep in some kind of addiction, but not quite deep enough for cold turkey to off him.

 

It makes his lip curl again, when distantly he knows he should be concerned and empathetic. All his ingrained thoughts revolve around how stupid this man must be to get hooked, how weak-willed as to foster an addiction, how bad at handling his own life if this is how he takes care of it. Granted Jack regularly overindulges in alcohol but not to the extent that anyone would _notice_. Not when he’s careful to take mornings off after going out and to liberally use his prescription painkillers carefully squirreled away from the kidnapping incident.

 

“Fine, then don’t talk.” Jack looks away, missing the pained expression on the other man’s face at the blunt dismissal. He’d tried, hadn’t he?

 

“You’re a dick, you know?” The soft voice says, following the sound of shuffling. He turns to see the man standing carefully, grabbing a bottle of water from the little table they’ve been given and lurching over to sit at the other end of the sofa. Jack’s nose wrinkles at the smell of sweat and he presses back against the side, edging away. The man just rolls his eyes and sips from the bottle, pulling his knees up to his chest. “We gonna talk about how you look just like me or what.” He murmurs, barely glancing at Jack.

 

“If anything _you_ look like _me_.” Jack retorts, slightly fascinated by how the chuckle the man lets out changes his face into something almost recognisable. “And does it really matter? I’d rather worry about leaving this room actually.”

 

“TJ.”

 

“What?”

 

“TJ.”

 

“I'm not following.” Jack frowns.

 

“My name is TJ. TJ Hammond, son of the President and future President of the United States.” A hand is wobbling in Jack’s face and if he takes it it’s only to stop the motion making him nauseous.

 

“Great, that really doesn’t help much.” TJ rolls his eyes, but the look he gets after is more lucid than he’s been so far; a little bit curious and a little bit calculating.

 

“You’re not reacting like I’d expect.”

 

“Which is how, exactly?”

  
“Usually grovelling, or screaming, or asking for autographs?” Jack snorts this time, and refuses to think about how the sound is the same as when TJ does it, or how his face probably screws up in the same way.

 

“Why would I care? I’m Crown Prince of Gilboa, I should expect all that from you.” TJ looks impressed, actually, and Jack preens inwardly. “But it doesn’t matter. Clearly we know why we’re being held here, but I want to get out sometime soon before my father inevitably refuses to pay my ransom.” TJ looks horrified.

 

“He’d refuse to pay?! That’s awful!”

 

“It’s my father.” Jack will not show how TJ’s sympathy both surprises and pleases him, because he will not and has never hoped his father would respond differently.

 

“Exactly- he’s family. He should be doing everything he can to get you home.” TJ is rather adamant about it and Jack’s shriveled heart twitches oddly. “My mother will be panicking round about now I think. I’ve been a shit kid but she’d still do anything for me.” TJ smiles fondly and the twitch returns. Jack has to look away.

 

“Neither of them are here though, so. We’re gonna have to get out ourselves.” Looking over at TJ Jack catalogues the slowly decreasing shakes and colour inching back into his cheeks. He’ll be groaning again shortly but it probably won’t be as bad or last as long. Jack can work with this.

 

“I guess. You sound like you have a plan.” TJ’s watching him curiously.

 

Jack just grins.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If I procrastinate my dissertation proposal much longer there may come into existence a TJ POV of the same scene. I am a professional procrastinator so that's not really unlikely.


End file.
